


Stagnation

by satan_copilots_my_tardis



Category: Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Blow Jobs, Character Study, Hug scene, Introspection, M/M, POV Loki (Marvel), Pseudo-Incest, Sibling Incest, Thor-centric, minor blood play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-14
Updated: 2017-11-14
Packaged: 2019-02-02 07:11:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12722013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/satan_copilots_my_tardis/pseuds/satan_copilots_my_tardis
Summary: You feel it shift when he presses your back against the lounge in front of the entire kingdom. Something in the air between you changes and it makes your skin tingle with the faint whispers of his electricity. You don’t know what to make of it as you lead him back to Midgard.An exploration of Loki's thoughts throughout Thor: Ragnarok reflecting heavily on his relationship to his brother and the unexpected turn it takes after their father's death.





	Stagnation

You feel it shift when he presses your back against the lounge in front of the entire kingdom. Between the weight of his hammer grinding against your sternum and the dancing mirth in his eyes as he demands for you to take him to Odin you feel that the careful rhythm that you’ve had all these years has changed. His face is still your brother’s, your too trusting, brash, fool hearted brother, but that light is different. It fills out his shape, squares his shoulders not with pride, arrogance or privilege, but with something almost as tempered as your blades and your wit. Something in the air between you changes and it makes your skin tingle with the faint whispers of his electricity. You don’t know what to make of it as you lead him back to Midgard.

* * *

 

And then you are both sitting at your father’s side and he is gone. You watch as his cosmic dust drift off on the breeze and send a silent prayer that he finds Mother in Valhalla. Thor watches for another long moment before he turns to you and the mirth is gone. Tears mist over his vision but the old anger has come alive behind the grief.

“This is your fault.” And he’s hissing the words at you and clenching his fists and you prepare to defend yourself with your sharp tongue and daggers. It’s been scant hours since your reunion and you’re about to come to blows before--

Hela. All the bluster to fight is redirected in an instant and without thought you fall into step beside your brother. It’s not the first time since the Bifrost Incident that you’ve fought at his side, but each time feels like slipping back into an old routine. The action always sits heavy in your stomach, nostalgia sweet as honey and memories of the aftermath bitter as poison. You try to focus on your… sister. She looks like you actually, more like you than Thor, or father, or mother, and you don’t understand it. She’s Odin’s first born, you’re Odin’s stray son, there’s no reason you should look alike. Perhaps the resemblance is part of the reason he always held you at arm’s length. You were always a painful reminder of the war with Jotunheim but now you wonder if the shape you took as an infant at his touch was also a memory of her. Perhaps it was the first war without her by his side and his regret seeped into your false skin.

Hela must see the resemblance too because she brushes off Thor when he announces himself. You glance at him, see the hard set of his shoulders, the tight grip he has on Mjolnir, and the grief twisted fury in his eyes. Even as radiant as he is in his rage you know that his might won’t be enough to stop this twisted goddess. You need to alleviate the tension here, stall her, so that you can retreat, even if Thor doesn’t like it. The thoughts fly through your mind in the span of a heartbeat before you’re speaking.

“Perhaps we can come to an arrangement.” You suggest.

“You sound like him.”

You’re the God of Lies. You keep yourself from bristling at the remark, but the effort costs you time. It costs you the seconds you needed to keep Thor from leaping into a fight he can’t possibly win.

Perhaps now that Mjolnir is gone he’ll understand that.

* * *

 

Crashing on the armpit of the nine realms with one of your own knives sticking out of your side is not your best moment, but it’s not your worst by far. So you pick yourself out of a garbage heap, heal your wounds, and make your way towards the sounds of civilization. When your foot hits the pavement and you’re surrounded by the crush of bodies and the looming towers of buildings you’re finally able to breathe deep. Your tongue tingles as the scent of chaos settles into your lungs. There’s something else in the flavor though, a secondary note that you find so familiar you might as well trade in it along with mischief: arrogance. Oh you can taste it in the angle the streets were constructed at, the slant of the buildings, the curve of crowds. You follow the streets easily, striding like you belong in this new strange place.

By your second word to the Grand Master, you do.

He gives you chambers, lavish food and drink, offers you women and men, and entertainment and you pick all the things that he wants you to. You drown yourself in the chaos he creates so you don’t need to think about watching your father’s dust drift through the sky or the last stolen glance as your golden brother before you were ripped from the Bifrost.

* * *

 

“Loki!” Thor’s voice is a mixture of exasperation and relief when he calls to you from across the room. Weeks of grief recoil within you, raise your walls, and put you on edge. Deny knowing him. Be charming. Appeal to the Grand Master. Do not get into a fight here. Do not let Thor bait you. Your mind is already swirling with strategies to manipulate this away and escape plans start to form as contingencies.

“Wait you know him?” The Grand Master asks.

“No.” You know Thor will out you but you can’t help but hope for his silence. If only he could see how much your position could help him if you so chose.

“He’s my brother.”

“Adopted.” A truly gifted trickster knows how to spin weakness into armour, but the acknowledgement still holds some of its sting. Thor looks at you again after he declares his intentions for defeating the Champion. His eyes are sharp and furious and it burns you how much you miss the mirth you’d seen there when he’d surprised you on Asgard.

You turn your attention back to the party at hand. The time for mining potentially useful secrets and forming allies is gone. Now you need to milk as much information about this champion as you can before your idiotic brother gets himself killed.

* * *

 

Even though he’d told you that it’s only been hours since he’d watched Father die it twists something unexpectedly behind your ribs when you see him kneeling in prayer when you visit. For a moment you want to flee, to forget you’d ever intruded on his grief, but then you can tell by the set of his shoulders that he’s already sensed your presence. Your words mingle with his as you finish the recitation with him but no matter what you say he doesn’t want you at his side.

He doesn’t lunge for you when your words start to become sharper. Instead he just regards you coldly, blames you for your father’s death, ignores the scraps of information you’d been able to gather, acts as if you’re worth nothing to him. You spit your hurt back at him, tell him that you’ve hedged your bets, tell him you’re looking forward to seeing him fall, and remind him there’s nothing he can do to save Asgard.

When your projection fizzles out and you’re left standing in your lush chambers getting the last word does nothing to soothe your ruffled feathers.

* * *

 

“Loki! Look who it is!” And the grin on his face shines through the stadium and pierces your chest. You can see the laughter return to him, breath him back to life, and it’s because of the beast. Looking at that creature still makes your bones ache and you’re certain that if he wanted to the Hulk could leap up to the spectator’s box and throw you into the ring for round two. You don’t think you’d fare much better this time around. Not like Thor. He’s trained as a bruiser, a tank, whose tactical prowess extends only as far as finding creative ways to inflict blunt force trauma on his enemies. Your strength was always in striking swiftly and dancing in and out of arm’s reach. The Hulk had proven on Earth that such methods weren’t going to work against him.  
But Thor goes toe-to-toe with the beast. He takes the hits, hits back, holds his own and as uncomfortable as you are in the fragile security of the spectator’s box you can’t help but marvel at his strength, at his determination. For a long moment you’re certain that he’s going to win, and then he’s collapsing on the ground, boisterous laughter gone and smile extinguished.

* * *

 

You know the moment that the Grand Master declares that Thor will be housed with the Champion in his suite that all is lost here. He will figure out a way to escape eventually and with your relationship exposed you will take the blame for his actions. So when the announcement and summons comes for you, you try to buy yourself time. The scavenger blows that plan to all hell and you seeth in place as you realize that if she hadn’t actively assisted your brother in his escape that she’d at least supported his efforts in some way.

So when you get her alone you let the accusations drip from your lips. Her reputation for being a brawler with a quick temper proceeds her and the hilts of your blades drop into your hands readily when it comes time to attack. But she’s good, well-trained, quick, and ruthless. She fights like an Asgardian and curiosity starts to prickle the back of your mind as you lock her arm to expose the skin of her forearm. The tattoo that stares back at you confirms your suspicions but before you can do much more than name her title she has you thrown to the floor, blade at your throat.

You underestimate the Valkyrie when you tap into her mind. The agony of her memories is cluttered and unresolved, even after so many thousands of years of grieving. It’s too much for you to process in the split second before she’s knocking you to the floor and bringing her fist against your temple. The impact is grounding enough for you to shake the lingering emotions and read her, past the anger and self-loathing, she’s remembering what it was like to fight for a cause, and what it was like to be part of something greater than herself. What it was like for everything to be taken away. You can see her make her decision as she winds chains around your body. She’s going to help your brother fight his losing battle. As a courtesy you don’t struggle to free yourself from your bonds. She might sway the odds slightly in his favor and that’s what he needs right now.

* * *

 

Thor’s eyes are pleased when the trash he’s thrown bounces off your skull. When he tells his companions about your childhood prank his eyes are bright and mirthful again, even when he looks at you and sees the fond smile you can’t keep from curving along your lips. Then the focus shifts to hatching a haphazard plan and you can see how much good it does for him to be surrounded by those who want to fight the good fight. You can’t be a part of that anymore.

* * *

 

But you march with him into the Grand Master’s palace. You shoot down your enemies together, watch his back, trust his judgement, all without a moment’s hesitation. He does the same, as if he knows that in these moments you can never spare a second to think of betraying that trust. If he were less kind, less good, less golden, he could have used these moments against you. He could have killed you with a hand around your throat in the heat of battle and you’d have never seen it coming. But he doesn’t, he wouldn’t. Instead he protects and knows you’ll do so in turn. It’s that same easy rhythm that cuts you to the bone. But he pushes. He talks.

That’s never been his motif, words are your weapons, but he pushes. And you just can’t help yourself. You talk back, clumsy messy words that do very little to hide how the events of the past several weeks have shaken you. Then you two are confined in the elevator on your way to the ship bay. He turns to you and the earnest look, still wrapped in his mirth, pins you in place. It shouldn’t surprise you how well he knows you. You know everything about him, you should have always expected the same in return, but he tells you easily,

“You would do well here, Loki. This place is lawless, chaotic, and savage. You’ll fit right in.” You have fit in, you’ve become the right hand of a man who’s known you barely a fortnight. You could rule this place if you wanted. But it stings you to hear Thor say such things.

“Do you really think so little of me?” You aren’t really expecting him to pin you in place with his gaze and answer your retort sincerely.

“Loki, I thought the world of you. I thought we were going to fight side-by-side forever, but at the end of the day you're you and I'm me and... oh, maybe there's still good in you but... let's be honest, our paths diverged a long time ago.” He gives you an easy look, speaks as if the words cost him nothing as he shreds your chest to ribbons. You turn your gaze away, throat thick and mind foggy with confused hurt. This is what you wanted him to understand, since the Bifrost, since the Tesseract, since the Ether…. But a part of you always hoped he’d believe in you forever no matter how many times you’d proved him wrong.

“Yeah... it's probably for the best that we'll never see each other again.” The emotion slips out in your voice and you pray he says nothing. There’s nothing to say.

“That’s what you’ve always wanted.” His hand drops onto your shoulder and you can’t help but bristle under the touch. But he does not retreat, instead you hear him take a breath before,

“Loki,” and then his hand is pressed against your sternum and the wind is knocked from your too tight chest as you feel your back hit the glass wall behind you. Your entire form tenses, expecting an attack you hadn’t seen coming, but there’s only Thor’s form crushing against your’s. He gives you no time to recover your balance before his mouth is on your’s, his beard scratching against your skin and his teeth grazing your lips.

You’ve known your brother your entire life, you’ve always known what to expect from him, but this-- this truly catches you off guard. Your mind reels, all your strategies, all your plans are jumbled. But his mouth is hot and demanding against yours and a surge of want fills up the aching space behind your ribs.

You press back until you forget how to breath. Your hands come up to his short hair, so different from how you’ve seen him all your life, and you pull him closer, mouth opening hungrily against his. There’s a fierceness, a roughness, in the exchange that reminds you of all the times you’ve fought. Thor bruises your lips with his teeth, plunges his tongue into your mouth, takes, and claims, and hurts as if this is just another brawl he is determined to win. There’s no room here for the clever twist of your tongue that has made scores of lovers knees go weak, no room to breathe sweet lies. When you tug back on his short locks, try to force him to part enough for you to raise a mask or transform into whatever he’s looking for in this moment, his hand moves from your chest to your throat. It settles there, grip restraining and nearly bruising. It traps the wanting keen that’s trying to slip past your teeth as they close over Thor’s lower lip.

Then he’s gone and you’re staring at him as he turns back to the elevator doors. Your head is spinning as you fall back in step at his side. You swallow hard and his hand comes down against your shoulder good-naturedly. As if he, your brother, your brother adopted or not, hadn’t just bitten kisses into your lips. Like the two of you aren’t still breathless from the exchange.

“Hey, let’s do ‘Get Help’.” You jolt at the casual sound of his voice. How can he go on as if nothing had just happened? But you can read no discomfort in him, no hesitation or awkwardness. Instead you think you can almost see some tension, some weight you’ve never realized he was carrying, loosen and fall away from the edges of his eyes. How long has he wanted this? He’s still looking at you, mirth in his eyes and, oh. Your mind scrambles back to the conversation and you frown.

“What?” You can still taste him on your lips.

He continues on like nothing’s changed and by the way the air tastes around him you can tell he doesn’t feel carrying on is a lie.  
By the time you’re being hurled through the air you’ve already made the decision to run. Or at least to stay here in the lawlessness, the savagery, and the chaos. You’ll probably end up doing both in time, but an extended stay to drown yourself in the fragrance and taste of mischief might help you purge yourself of the shape of your brother’s knowing words and the taste of his tongue on yours.  
You’re not expecting him to catch on quite so quickly. And by the All Father you’re not expecting to look down where his hand had been pressed moments ago and see the obedience disk pinned to your chest.

“We go around and around, I trust you, you betray me. You just can’t seem to help yourself. It’s like you want to change but you just can’t. You’ve stagnated.” He pauses and he can’t possibly tell how your breath hitches when he speaks, not while electricity is jolting across your nerves and paralyzing you with agony. “I know you’ll always be the god of mischief, but you could be so much more.” Fuck. That’s what’s changed, isn’t it? That’s what shifted. “Ah well, I’ll just leave this over here for you.” And the control goes flying off into the distance as Thor pushes back to his feet.

You can’t turn your head to watch him as he walks away, but in your mind’s eye you can see how he’s grown. He’s matured. You saw it on Asgard and Midgard as he matched wits with you in new ways and learned to never trust you at face value. You think this change is more shaking than the way he’d tried to devour you moments before.

When the rebels finally arrive and free you from that blasted chip you’ve already made up your mind, changed your mind, questioned your sanity, and finally decided to return home. Perhaps for the first time you can stand at Thor’s side, not obscured by his shadow, not with a knife at his back, but as equals. Perhaps you can finally prove yourself beyond your title once and for all.

* * *

 

“Your savior has returned!” Of course all that doesn’t mean you have to sacrifice showmanship. Being more than the God of Lies does not mean being the God of Mediocre Entrances.  
Your blades spring to your palms as you and your small, but willful, cavalry leap into the fray and carve a swath through Hela’s forces. But Thor is nowhere to be seen and you can’t afford to cast your magic out to find him and distract yourself from the fight. He must be keeping Hela away so that your people can get to safety, all you can do is hope that he can stay alive long enough for your companions to get the job done.

Beating back the undead forces is not effortless, but together you manage to vanquish the first wave of soldiers. It’s only in the small reprieve from the sounds of clashing weaponry that you hear the thunder roll in. Your eyes are drawn immediately to where the darkest part of the sky has shaded the palace with gloom. The air fills with the scent of ozone, the hairs along the back of your neck standing on end, and you feel your muscles coil tight with anticipation. You’ve fought at your brother’s side for thousands of years and been on the receiving end of his lightning more than once, but you can’t recall it ever having felt quite like this.

The bolt that demolishes the palace is the greatest display of force you’ve ever witnessed from Thor and you realize a moment too late that your face has split into a grin.

* * *

 

“You’re late.” And under the taste of electricity you can’t taste a lie. He’d known you were going to come back long before you’d made your decision. 

“You’re missing an eye.” You quip back but seeing your brother’s injuries shake you. Of course you’d known Hela was perfectly capable of destroying you all, but it’s different to be faced directly with the proof of the damage she can deal. Thor gives you no more time to dwell on it, eventually addressing you with hard determination in his remaining eye.

“It was never about stopping Ragnarok, it was about causing it. If we unite Surtur’s helmet with the eternal flame we could stop her, could you do it?” He adds as an afterthought.

“That’s ambitious, even for me.” But then you’re turning reclaim the Valkyrie’s discarded ship and speeding off towards the ruins of the palace.

* * *

 

In moments you’re watching the home of your childhood be destroyed, surrounded by a crush of citizens, refugees, and you don’t know what’s going to happen next. All your plans, all your clever stories and words all spun together so carefully and wound around yourself like and a shield and you’re left with nothing. So you go to your brother again. He’s locked himself away for the time being and you can see in the slight slump of his shoulders as he pours himself a drink that he is weighed down by exhaustion and the trials of what has happened over the past few days. You wonder if he will slump further under the weight of the crown you both used to covet so much.

“It suits you, you know.” The hair, the patch, the way he’s matured since you thwarted his coronation all those years ago.

“Loki, I believe a ‘thank you’ is in order.” His voice is even as he turns to face you and his eye is bright again even though he’s not smiling. You don’t quite know what to do with your brother’s full attention now that the threat of imminent death has been removed and now that you know what it feels like to have his tongue running across your teeth. “I might even give you a hug if you were really here.” And he throws the crystal stopper at you. Your hand darts out, lightning quick to pluck it from the air and see his brows raise a little in pleased surprise. Good, it’s about time you’re back to being the one surprising him.

“I’m here.” You say lowly, tossing the stopper back to him. He catches it just as easily and pauses. The hairs on the back of your neck start to prickle with electricity as he makes a show of setting the stopper down and turning back to you.

“I believe I promised a hug then?” A hug has never made your spine go rigid with tension before, but you’re stock still as he crosses the room in three sure steps and puts his hands on your shoulders. He stares down at you, eye searching and careful, before he wraps you up and pulls you in tight. Your own arms coil around his back as he rests his head in the crook of your neck unashamedly.  
It’s just a hug. It’s like any of the other countless hugs that you’ve shared with him over thousands of years. It’s warm and tight and it feels like a tiny piece of home survived Ragnarok. And it’s so nostalgic it makes your heart break and your grief sweep through your skull, leaving only pain in its wake. It’s too much and not enough and it just doesn’t feel like it fits right anymore.

Thor grunts slightly when your fingers curl into his short hair and you yank his head up so you can kiss him. His mouth meets yours eagerly and opens readily when your tongue probes against his lips. His arms shift, wrap around your waist and pull you flush against him and you go happily. This is new, this is confusing, and unexpected and every point where your bodies are pressed together tastes like chaos. There’s still an edge of violence in the way you clutch at each other and the physical pain of holding him too close, of your lips catching on the sharp edges of his teeth, keeps the grief that threatens to swell in your chest at bay.

You don’t know quite when your hands find the clasps of his breastplate or his fingers worm their way into your leathers, but soon you’re stripping each other down, hands clawing at exposed skin. If only you can get closer, if only you can shed years of hurt and betrayal and crawl inside of each other, find peace in something that feels like home, but is different enough not to drown in. The bar rattles precariously and pain blossoms out from your lower back as Thor pushes you against it as he mouths across your neck and over your collarbones. His mouth is burning against your skin as he grazes his teeth along the bones. You rake your nails down his shoulders as you gasp for breath, cock straining against your leathers and half drunk on the desperate chaos of this coupling. Your fingers press into a row of stitches and blood blossoms hot and sticky against your fingertips before you can pull your hand away. Thor’s answering groan vibrates against your skin and makes you shiver, but it doesn’t sound like a pained noise. When you press against the wound again his teeth close over your throat and all you can do is arch against him, grasping fingers smearing blood across his skin.

Your brother doesn’t seem to mind as he falls to his knees and undoes the clasp of your pants. Your breath catches in the back of your throat at his eagerness. There’s something in the way he tugs away the fabric, in the gleam of his eye as he exposes you to his sight that makes you speak.

“How long?” Your voice hardly sounds your own. How long has he wanted you? How long has he been hiding this, lying to you? How come you never tasted it on him before?

“It doesn’t matter.” You taste that lie like acid in your throat. But in the next breath his hand is curling around the base of your cock and his tongue is swiping over the head and you can’t dwell on his words. Fuck, if his mouth was a burning heat across your neck here it’s a white hot iron. Your moan echoes along the walls as a hand curls into his short hair and oh god you love his hair and the way he curls his tongue along your shaft. The sound seems to spur him on, his mouth working over you faster. Your breath hisses out between your teeth, shaking with the effort of keeping still and letting him slide his lips over you torturously. Your grip in his hair must be painful by this point but he doesn’t seem to notice as he focuses on your pleasure. When his eye flicks up and catches yours it pulls the breath from your lungs. Looking at him like this changes the shape of your reality again. Gone is the arrogant, golden brother, gone the righteous hero, and gone the man who condemned you. If not for the glint of mirth, of affection you now realize, in his eye you don’t think you would recognize the man who’s adopted the shape of your brother. And then he’s giving you that old familiar confident smirk even with his lips wrapped around your cock as he urges you to move.  
You wonder what he sees in you now as you guide his head forward as you begin to thrust into the burning heat of his mouth. His fingers squeeze bruises along the backs of your thighs as he holds onto you, taking everything you give him and never dropping his gaze from yours. Fuck, you’re not going to last long like this. Your thighs shake as he works you over and your nerves are stretched taut with pleasure.

“Th-Thor, ah, I--!” He swallows around you, taking you to the hilt, and your back arches as you spill yourself down his throat. You mind goes blank, no grief, no loss, no thought for just a few blissful moments as you come back down, Thor peppering your still trembling thighs with pecks and nips. You curse under your breath but he just tucks you back into your pants before rising from the floor and letting you drag him back in for another kiss. He tastes like electricity more than anything else. Your hands slide across his front, cupping his erection through the fabric before sliding nimbly to the clasps. He buries his head against your shoulder as you work your hand over him, feeling the solid weight of his cock in your hand and the hot gasps of breath as he moans into your skin. You’re half drunk on the chaos-drenched air between you as you stroke him. What are you even doing? You don’t know how much it matters when Thor breaths your name and comes shaking over your hand.  
He looks at you again, and the air is still charged, the same charge you had first felt when he’d seen through your tricks at your reunion. Even with his hair shorn, his eye lost, and the weight of a brief and exhausting war clinging to him, that light still dances in his gaze.

You kiss him again, enjoy the way his electricity dances across your skin while you’re surrounded with mischief. Asgard is gone. Your home, your father, even your past misdoings seem to have left you. Thor has grown. He can see through you and match your wit and he’s all that you have left of what used to be. And as you stand there, circled by his warmth with that sharp kind eye on you, you hope that he can not only teether you to your past, but help you forge your future.


End file.
